I leapt to my feet, shouted at him. ‘Oh, yes, you bloody well can.’Tevfik remained impassive. ‘Let me explain,’ he said.‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve been sitting here listening to a load of bullshit, for all I know. You could be as corrupt as Ibrahim.’‘No he’s not,’ said a voice behind me. A cultured voice. I turned to examine a bespectacled man dressed in a sharp suit and striped tie. Not a local. He looked out of place here, a well-weathered coffee-shop, among a few rough-looking patrons.‘Apologies for the delay.’ He shrugged. ‘You know how it is. Deadlines take priority.’He gestured at me to sit back down. ‘You’re Mr. Richard?’I didn’t move. ‘Yes I am, and who are you?’‘My name is immaterial. I’m a lawyer, contracted to Muslim Relief, and I can vouch for Mr. Tevfik’s integrity.’‘Bully, for you, I said. ‘Your Mr. Tevfik has shown a remarkable lack of it when soliciting my involvement in your subterfuge.’ I pointed a finger at Tevfik. ‘Most of all, he refused to tell me where I could find Eko, my boy. I thought it a timely coincidence, but shrugged it off as simply that.’Glances passed between the two, before Mr. Lawyer nodded. ‘Blame me,’ he said. ‘I sanctioned non-disclosure.’Why? Didn’t really matter. Not now. I wanted food inside me, and a stiff drink, but much that I resented it, I needed their help.I shuffled my feet, and rubbed a hand across my brow. ‘Well, you can help me, then.’ You owe me one. Convince Eko to return with me.’Tevfik interrupted. ‘I’ve already explained, I can only offer advice. Tell me, what role would your boy have at your home?’This I had thought through, when Angelique last visited me. The solution, obvious.‘I need a handyman. Since the tsunami, the grounds have been neglected, and works are always needed on the House. I would provide free food and lodgings, and a monthly stipend.’Tevfik looked hard at me. ‘That’s all? No other more…personal commitment?’Pervert? I shook my head. ‘Eko is like a son to me. I wouldn’t…’Mr. Lawyer lifted a hand. ‘I’ll consider what we can do. Leave it with me.’Dismissed.I walked away, more resigned than hopeful, and found an international restaurant nearby. Upstairs, an open-roof seating area appealed to me, already several tables full with foreigners. A smiling waitress showed me a blackboard of the day’s dishes, and I chose the three-course special and a large gin and tonic, one ice cube. While I waited, I squinted out over the road below. At night only a few lamps shone, and my view was partially obscured by the branches of an overhanging tree.Was that Tevfik?His face was in shadow, and he headed towards the ferry terminal, so I dismissed it. My drink arrived, and I savoured the first mouthful as if it was the elixir of life. My appetizer, an orange shrimp cocktail, had the same effect. Calmer now, yet deception and deceit still nagged at me. Before I returned to the House, with or without Eko, I’d talk again with Tevfik.Chicken pasta garnished in a green pesto sauce, followed by a dollop of vanilla ice-cream — another G&T later, I settled the bill, walked back downstairs, and out into the street.The trudge back to my home-stay was without incident, but now I became more vigilant, seeking substance in shadows lurking in doorways and alleys. I listened for footsteps, shrank away from dazzling headlights when a vehicle approached, and avoided masked men carrying poison-tipped umbrellas.Foolish.Tevfik hadn’t returned, so his wife told me. I bade her goodnight and went to my room. Angelique didn’t visit me that night, neither did Jane, nor any other spectre.

Sunday morning it rained. His wife said that Tevfik was visiting Lampu’uk. Due back Monday, which elated me.Maybe Eko with him.The day passed.Slowly.In between showers I went for short walks to clear my head, and to eat out at local cafés. Mary called. I told her I’d return soon.‘How soon?’‘Soon.’‘Richard, don’t mess with me.’‘I’m not.’‘So, when will you be back?’‘Soon.’This time she disconnected after uttering a selection of choice swearwords aimed at my incapacity to act intelligently.I chuckled, and dipped a piece of bread into the remainder of my seafood stew. Facing the music didn’t hold out any real terrors for me now — the undercover episode with Islamic Relief taught me not to allow others to control my future.Not anymore, they won’t. Nor would Mary.A bird hopped by, and I lobbed a handful of crumbs towards it. It scoffed the lot, chirped, and flew off.Enlightenment.I returned back to the home-stay late afternoon. Tevfik’s wife was wringing her hands, her face streaked with tears, looking distraught as I entered reception.‘Oh, Mr. Richard. Terrible news. Terrible.’I stared at her. My chest tightened, the tension rose. ‘What’s happened?’‘My husband. Accident.’Good grief. ‘Tevfik had an accident?’She shook her head. ‘No.’I gulped in relief, waited for her to explain.‘Landslide. Blocked the road. He says he can’t return until it’s cleared.’Oh well…‘A couple of days, one week, perhaps.’A couple of days? A bloody week!‘Rain too much. Dangerous.’I had a decision to make. Stay put or return to the House?Take control. ‘Tevfik is safe. Don’t worry.’ I scribbled my phone number in her guest book. Pointed at it. ‘Please call me when he returns.’She frowned. ‘You’re going?’I nodded. ‘Tomorrow morning.’Emancipated.

On our way to the Manor I stopped at a small supermarket to extract cash from an ATM outside, and to stock up my larder with basic necessities. Soon after we arrived back and unloaded the provisions, Mary retired to her room.Thank God.I drank a glass of water to sober up, and sat in the lounge with the TV on at low volume. BBC world-wide news full of disasters; I switched to local news, similar, but one in particular held me transfixed to the screen. I turned up the sound. “…a colleague from NEMO had this to say about the victim...” — the road accident scene cut to a young woman wearing a burkha and dabbing a tissue at her eyes — “Adil Ahmed is a martyr…” — she slumped to her knees and started to pray.Adil Ahmed? No, can’t be.The camera switched back to the reporter. “Initial reports indicate the victim risked his own life to save a young child who crossed the road in front of a truck. He died at the scene. Mr Ahmed was twenty-nine, an engineer from Islamabad.”Oh God, it’s him.“…Family members of the child, who suffered a few minor injuries, are believed to be distraught. Another victim of the tsunami, another sad day in Aceh.” The camera panned in to the reporter’s face. Face unlined. Not one straggling hair. “Katie Robinson, Jakarta news.” I felt surrounded by spirits floating around me, as if I didn’t have enough to cope with. And now another. What the hell do I tell Mary..?

After yet another restless night I broke the news mid-morning before breakfast. Better to get it over with. We were sitting in the lounge in our dressing gowns like two old dears, a pot of tea in front of us. I picked up the pot and filled our cups. ‘I have some bad news. Last night I sat up watching TV news of a road accident here in Aceh. A man was killed.’ Mary was half listening, more occupied with fiddling with her phone. ‘Listen to me, Mary.’ She looked up. ‘Mary, he was Jane’s ex.’‘What?’ The phone dropped from her hand, hit the sofa and bounced on to the rug by her feet.While she retrieved it, I moved across and put my arms around her. ‘I’m sorry.’‘Are you sure?’Hmmm. Perhaps…? ‘Jane mentioned his name once.’‘Who?’‘Adil.’‘Adil?Adil. Why didn’t you tell me he’s a raghead?’‘Enough. That’s racist. Jane would never…’ Mary squirmed out of my embrace. ‘But she did, didn’t she? Got herself bunged up with some fucking desert rat, and now look…’She went silent for a few moments. ‘There must be a mistake. I’ll talk to NEMO.’I nodded. Maybe she was correct. Jane’s mention of rugger and Adil didn’t match. More like cricket, surely? Or was it merely a figure of speech?I sipped my tea. ‘I’ll call Hamish,’ I said. ‘He should know.’Not available, in surgery, the receptionist told me. Sod it. I left a message for him to call back. I grimaced at Mary. ‘No good. Shall we have a bite to eat, and go straight to NEMO after?’‘Definitely, pet. Kick Rod’s ass.’Pet?I let it ride. ‘Drink up, and get ready,’ I said, ‘while I rustle up some toast.’Damn Charles. Where’s Hannah, when I need her?And by the look on Mary’s face when she came back down wearing a red dress, which matched her eyes, she’d had no luck with either of the “boys.”‘Charles cut me off. Would you believe it? Just wait until I see him. And Richard’s not making sense, babbling on about some echo. Is he ill, pet?’Echo? Good question.I shrugged. ‘Richard’s not the man he was. Losing Angelique…’ Damn. Shut up, woman.Too late. Mary broke into a bout of histrionics. Much cursing, much arm-waving, much hair pulling and teeth grinding.‘It’s not fair,’ she said, when the storm passed.I pushed my cushion to one side and emerged from the sofa intact. ‘Help yourself to toast,’ I said, making my way upstairs.With Richard in need of a prolonged rest in a mental home, I didn’t need Mary to go Loopy-Lou as well. Add Charles, throwing himself at any bit of skirt, it would be a miracle if I didn’t go bonkers as well.I took a long soak under the shower, which cleared my head. Control the situation — tell Rod to get Jane put to rest and sort out Junior’s future, and I could say adieu to Mary. Meanwhile, I’d put the “boys” future on hold.Positive thinking.Yes.I wore a cream blouse, blue pantaloons and matching jacket for our meeting with Rod. Business like, not so Mary whose colour choice oozed confrontation.Our simple plan went sour after we arrived at NEMO to be told that Rod was conducting interviews all day. Sod it.While we stood looking at pictures and posters on the walls, the receptionist asked if someone else could help us. My mind flashed back to the road accident scene. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘one of your staff, a woman wearing a burkha, on TV last night. About Adil. Is she available?’She was.We were ushered into a small box room — doubled as a library — and offered tea. We declined, introduced ourselves— Mary making it clear who she was — and offered condolences. She accepted, responded.‘I’m Sara,’ she said. ‘Head of Media. I’m sorry to hear about Jane. She was one of our best.’Another image today away from the limelight. No burkha; jeans and a NEMO T-shirt sufficed. And a touch of make-up. She smiled, recognised my expression. ‘Code of dress in Aceh is very strict. For Muslim women, Sharia law prevails.’Tell me… Covered legs and headscarves when out and about.‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said Mary. ‘I’m English, and I’ll wear what I like.’Sara didn’t appear ruffled. ‘We’re working on women’s rights in village communities, but it’s not easy to change centuries of tradition. Now, how can I help you?’I glanced at Mary. She gave me a nod. Go ahead. ‘Tell me about Adil,’ I said. ‘He was one of Jane’s colleagues. Was he also her boyfriend?’Sara shook her head. ‘Certainly not.’ She reached for a box of tissues and extracted one. ‘It’s a personal tragedy. So sad. He didn’t deserve to die.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’Mary put one hand on my arm, pointed a fag-stained finger at Sara. ‘I’ll answer that. It might come as a shock to you, but this Adil arsehole fathered my daughter’s baby son.’Eek.Sara’s face blanched. She clenched her fists together. ‘Impossible,’ she said. ‘He was my fiancé.’

Tanya wasn’t soliciting that night. And the piped music was lousy. I waited a while, had a couple of Johnnie Walker whiskies, half-heartedly chatted to a fat girl with a pouting mouth and bad breath, and went back to the room. Hannah was snoring.Saturday, she went window-shopping — I waited at a run-down coffeehouse, and read yesterday’s Jakarta Times. Mid-morning Mary called me.‘And what’s your excuse this time?’‘I’m in a different time zone, it’s still Friday, here.’‘Don’t get smart, Charles, or else.’Or else, what?Empty threats. I clicked off the phone.The day passed.Slowly.When we returned to our room, Hannah turned on the TV, and I half-finished Friday’s crossword.The evening became another déjà vu.Except a new bargirl who surrounded me in a corner. She had a face with a beaky nose and rolling eyes, and gangling arms and legs stuck on a make-shift torso — reminded me of an octopus.I didn’t sleep well that night.Sunday, after breakfast, Hannah went window-shopping in a new costume. Her share of the money well spent — she looked great. Our luggage had grown to three bags. I waited at the run-down coffeehouse, and read Saturday’s paper.Mid-morning, Mary called me.We exchanged a few innovative pleasantries containing several swear words, mostly of her creation, and threats, solely her creation.I clicked off the phone, and resolved not to turn it back on.The day passed.Slowly.Hannah watched TV, and I completed Friday’s crossword and begun Saturday’s. Our luggage grew to four bags. A Christian miracle. One more bag and a couple of trout, and Hannah could re-enact a parable.The evening became another déjà vu, up to the moment I walked into the bar.Good grief.A live band was on stage. Stage? A small raised platform at one end rocking with the beat.I turned to leave, but the musicians finished their wailing and took a break. The lights brightened. I glanced around. No Tanya and no deep-sea monsters — I ordered a large whisky and soda, and retreated along the length of the bar, far away from the stage to a stool seat from where I could observe newcomers.I gave up at the second break, my ears deafened. I wouldn’t hear Hannah snoring, a bonus, and to be truthful I’d lost interest in confronting Tanya, she was history.I traipsed back up the basement steps to the lobby area, saw the receptionist at the far end, and…good grief.A tall man, with a military bearing, was collecting his key from her. With him Tanya, dressed in a black dress slit at the hip revealing nothing, but promising everything. She whispered something in his ear, linked her arm in his, and they moved across to the lift.That was too much to ignore — another victim about to be fleeced. Before I’d taken a few hurried steps, the lift doors opened, they entered, and the doors closed.Bollocks.I strode over and saw the lift ascend to the 13th floor, and stop.How appropriate.A voice behind me. ‘Good evening sir, can I help you?’I turned. The night manager. Shift drifting into the early hours, he still looked fresh. The way he observed me, I didn’t.‘I think I recognised a friend of mine, can’t be sure, he was collecting his key a few moments ago.’‘Yes, sir.’From his blank expression, my “friend’s” privacy was going to remain private, unless I came up with a name.‘He had a young lady with him. Her name’s Tanya.’‘Yes, sir.’I tried another route. ‘I think he’s in danger.’The manager’s eyebrows rose. ‘Why’s that, sir?’Because she fucking well drugged me and stole my fucking money, you nitwit.‘I need you to call his room.’‘What’s the number, sir?’I made a stab. ‘Thirteen hundred something or other, I forget exactly.’‘Excuse me, sir.’He moved behind the counter, and discussed something with the receptionist. She nodded, a good sign. I strolled over and leant against the desk.The manager glanced up. ‘The gentleman left instructions not to be disturbed, sir.’ He opened his arms, shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’Bollocks.My lips tightened. Obviously, not being disturbed took precedence over any threat of danger. I nodded at the co-conspirators, pushed off the desk, and walked over to the lift. I pressed the button and waited. One final chance. The lift arrived, the doors opened, I entered and pressed the 13th floor button. Once there, I stood in the empty foyer and looked at the far wall, which had a room notice board. To the left, rooms 1301 – 1319, and to the right, rooms 1320 – 1339.Forty.I took the left corridor, and walked down to the end, pausing at each door on either side to listen.The sound of TV in a few, but nothing to suggest I should disturb the occupants. I retraced my steps to the foyer, and walked the length of the other corridor.And there it was. Right at the end, by the fire-escape exit.Dangling from the handle of room 1339, a Do Not Disturb sign. I pressed my ear against the door, hearing the murmur of voices, one high pitch and one low, but not discernible enough to make out the words.It had to be them.Absolutely.The man would understand — if he was British. We hadn’t won two world wars by being faint-hearted.I rattled the handle and banged on the door. The murmuring ceased. I waited. Nothing. I banged once more, the door chain clinked, and the door opened a crack.A woman peered out, and she wasn’t Tanya.Bollocks.‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘wrong room.’ I turned to leave, but then another woman’s voice. ‘Who is it, fräulein?Fräulein? What the f…?I didn’t need to see her, I’d recognised the voice. What weird game was she playing?‘Let me in,’ I said, ‘I must speak to your…’ I took a gamble… ‘fiancé.’The woman swore at me. ‘Sich verpissen,’ she said, closing the door.And fuck off to you, as well, fräulein.I took a step back. A few images went through my mind, most of them sordid. By the time I reached my room, I settled on a threesome drugs-induced orgy with an unhappy ending for the sauerkrauts.Ihren kampf.I chortled, and opened the door. Hannah was snoring.

I trust this card finds you in an interminate state. It saddens me that you ordered your 7th cavalry to shoot their horses to form a wall, and to no avail, as we had you surrounded in a pincer movement.So I have little regret of your demise, and your 210 soldiers, who were, of course, mutilated in accordance with our long held-beliefs. May your souls walk the earth for all eternity and never ascend to heaven.And to add to your discomfort, Chief Sitting Bull has commandeered a portrait of you, namely Custer’s Last Stand which shows you stripped of your buckskins, naked as the day you entered our world, and with a Sioux arrow fully piercing your rigid member.Brings tears to your eyes, doesn’t it?

Disrespectfully yours,Crazy Horse.

Historical note: it is asserted that Custer’s body was left untouched as he was not wearing army uniform. Same sentiments, however.

I sat down and regarded Tevfik. His normal effusive manner was absent, more dejected, or maybe pensive. That didn’t stop him talking.‘I’m sorry for my friend’s bad manners. ‘Praise be to Allah. May peace be upon you also, Mr. Richard.’Friend’s bad manners?Ibrahim coughed. Touched my arm. ‘We are not friends, only ex-colleagues, but share our love for Allah. It is fitting that we…how do you say it…clear the air.’I waited. No doubt one of them would enlighten me. And the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to know.Maybe I could talk to Tevfik alone.I couldn’t. I endured a battle of differences while they batted a ball to and fro — partly in English, for my benefit. Clearly, my presence served as an umpire, and I cut short the rally. ‘Game over,’ I said. ‘Your business dealings are none of mine.’Not so.A third man joined us, dressed in uniform — a policeman? He carried a large briefcase, and sat it carefully down on the table.‘It’s time, he said.Ibrahim rose, nodded at me. ‘You did a good job,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t the courier, you was.’What?I sat stunned while the “policeman” picked up the briefcase, escorted Ibrahim across the road to a black saloon with tinted windows, and opened the rear door. They both got inside, the door closed, and the car drove away.Tevfik plucked at my arm. ‘I owe you an explanation,’ he said.Too bloody true.‘But first, coffee. Is that alright?’I shrugged. A large cognac would have been better, but that could come later. Now I had Tevfik alone, I’d listen to his story, and then ask him to help me with Eko.When the coffees arrived — two small cups of espresso — Tevfik placed both hands on the table, palms up, as if he had nothing to hide.‘I was appointed loss prevention officer in Muslim Relief one year before the tsunami.’I frowned, and he smiled.‘I take it you don’t know what that means. I was tasked to set up controls to prevent money and equipment from being misappropriated. Came the tsunami, that job became critical’ — he shrugged — ‘but by then my contract had ended, and I had made a new life in Sabang.’I made the connection. ‘So you’re saying..?’He nodded. ‘A man in Ibrahim’s position could take advantage. Fictitious projects, labour, and materials all costing many thousands of dollars.’‘So how did you become involved?’‘You remember the card I gave you. Ahmet Hussein?’I yawned. My coffee cup was empty, and so was my stomach. ‘Can we continue this over dinner?’Tevfik read my mind. ‘All you need to know is how you were involved?’‘Yes,’ I said.‘Hussein’s cousin is…was…Ibrahim’s driver. A tip-off, and I agreed to set up what you would call a sting, but sanctioned at the highest levels within Muslim Relief.’ He smiled at me. ‘When you came here seeking your boy, your interests coincided with mine. Allah was kind.’I fidgeted. ‘And?’Tevfik brightened up. ‘Ibrahim needed an outlet for the money. Money laundering, you’d call it. I provided that. Anonymously. You don’t need to know the details, except that today Ibrahim brought a briefcase stacked full of money.’A bird glided past and settled on a wooden post nearby. It chirped and cocked its head at me.One man’s view might not be the same as another.‘So what did I have to do with it?’Tevfik teeth shone through his wide smile. ‘Ibrahim didn’t trust anyone. Especially me. But he needed to check. When you told him you knew me, and where I lived, he thought it was a trap. But it must have been clear that you knew nothing, and he used you to meet up with me.’I tried to remember if I mentioned Tevfik’s name or showed his card to Ibrahim when I first met him, but my memory failed me.Bloody dengue.I took a sip of coffee, while Tevfik continued. He was oblivious to our surroundings and other patrons that passed us by; in a world of his own, and savouring every moment.‘Once Hussein’s cousin called me to tell me he was on his way with you…’ Tevfik sat back, folded his arms, looked at his still full coffee cup, and then slapped his hands on the table top. ‘It all went to plan.’But how?I frowned. ‘I left him at the ferry.’His eyebrows converged as if hiding a great secret that would be revealed to the gasps of his admirers. ‘Yes, I know. But he followed you to my resort, and my wife told him where I’d be after prayer. And that led right into the hands of our local law enforcers.’Police. I thought so.He carried on explaining, but the enormity of the intrigue hit me hard. I’d been bloody-well used. A bloody pawn. And I wasn’t happy. It didn’t take me long to fill in the gaps, and I set about redressing my hurt feelings.‘Tevfik,’ I said, ‘I’m sure you know I found Eko at Lampu’uk, and I’m bloody sure you used me.’ I glared at him. ‘Now you can repay me. Persuade my boy to come back with me.’Tevfik shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I cannot.’

Author

Bio: British age 74 (young) retired and living in Thailand. Profession, Charity Auditor working in some 40 countries over the last ten years before retiring. Familiar with writing reports to professional standard. Sense of humour, reserved, realist and down to earth. Enjoy writing with a passion for the unusual.Genre: Fiction crime Email: stephenterry747@hotmail.comPhone: 0066823250835 Thailand